On tiptoes you dance

You open your eyes

And the light is blinding,

And the applause is deafening,

And then comes silence.

The light dances on the polished wood;

Sliding from one place to another

Before resting on you.

And then comes the first note.

With your face powdered white

And your hair in a bun,

You raise your arms up

And you smile

At the faceless faces directed at you.

You take a step

With the strum of a harp.

You run to one side

As they beat the snare drums.

Then come the violins

And the flutes

And the music turns into liquid.

And you glide,

And you jump,

And you twirl,

And you smile,

And then silence.

You are on polished wood,

Kneeling.

Spotlights are on you,

Blinding.

Sweat from your forehead

Sliding

Down to the brown mahogany.

Each drop

Louder than the beating of your heart.

You hear someone cough

And then another.

You look at the faceless faces,

As the sweet sound of the violin,

Lifts you to your feet.

The bass drum echoes all around,

And your eyes widen.

Another beating of the drum

And you are lifted into the air.

And you land

And the show goes on.

The ache is slowly building,

The smile is already gone,

But the music keeps on playing,

And you can’t do anything

But dance…

The end is drawing near,

The final notes are being played out,

Sweat covers your body,

Shining with the light,

The faceless faces are watching you close,

And your legs are moving on their own

And you spin

And you twirl

Or is it the world spinning

And you remain on your toes?

And then you stop

And the music falls to the ground,

And the lights go dark,

And the curtains fall down,

And you fall to your knees,

Waiting for the next show to come…